Undefined
by Keltic Banshee
Summary: Jack is gone, and Ianto needs to be reminded he's alive.


"Owen!" Two pair of eyes turn to her, looking surprised, almost as if they had forgotten she is here. She should be used to that by now, but it still stings when _certain people_ only remember she's around when they need something. At least Gwen looks slightly apologetic. Owen just pulls a face, and she has to take a deep breath to stop herself from slapping him for being his usual insensitive arrogant self. Ianto briefly looks up from his computer, only to shake his head and dive right back into whatever he is doing. "If it bothers you so much, start cleaning. Or better still, don't make such a mess in the first place."

He gives her a stern, almost disbelieving look. She holds it, defying him to open that big mouth of his again, wondering why she isn't cowering away as she normally does when it comes to Owen. Somehow standing up to people when they are being unfair to others seems easy than when they are unfair to her. On any other day, it would be Ianto himself giving Owen a piece of his mind, but today Ianto seems to have better things to do than snap back at anybody. Not that she can blame him.

"Tosh has a point, Owen." Gwen, as usual, tries to calm the situation. And, as usual, fails miserably. Somebody should explain to her that any leverage she might have had on Owen while they were sleeping together – if she ever had any – is gone now that they can barely share a room full of people without starting an argument. In a sudden wave of motion, Owen grabs his bag and his jacket, kicks his chair - causing a mountain of paperwork to fall from his desk onto the floor - and heads for the door. Ianto doesn't even bother to shake his head at the mess.

"I'm not putting up with either of you telling me what to do." The cage opens, the cog door rolls, alarms fill the tense air in the Hub. "Nobody put _any _of you in charge." Nobody put Owen in charge either, but it would be pointless to point that out.

Behind his screens, Ianto rolls his eyes, and it's good to see a hint of his usual cynical self surface, even if only for a moment. Gwen grabs her stuff and dashes after Owen, shouting things that are supposed to make sense but don't really. That leaves, as usual, just Ianto and her in the Hub. Only that, unlike most days, they are not in the middle of fighting an alien threat or figuring out an alien artefact. There is just Ianto desperately trying to figure out what happened to Jack, and her wanting to help even though she doesn't have a clue how to. With a sigh, she takes a couple of steps towards Ianto and stands by the desk. Not really knowing what to do, not really knowing what to say. Because, what can she say to him?

It's been two days now, since Jack... disappeared. That's what Ianto calls it, at least since Gwen managed to convince him – CCTV in hand – that Jack was most definitely _not_ taken, but left of his own accord. He still refuses to say "Jack left", as if the mere act of saying it out loud made it true. Owen does nothing but mention it at any opportunity, and shoehorns it in when the opportunity does not present itself. Never let it be said that Dr Harper is not good at anything – he must have graduated with honours in annoying others.

All in all, the last two days have been hell. With added bitchiness, cynicism and snark. As if they didn't get enough of that on a good day.

"Ianto?" He doesn't react. Just keeps staring at the screens, tapping a few keys every now and again. Pointedly refusing to quit, to admit that Jack is not here. Pointedly refusing to give up, and somehow that almost makes her smile. Ianto would never give up on those he cares for, even if helping them took him to hell and back. And that's not something that can be said of many people these days.

She lets out a sigh, still looking for words she knows she won't find. Ianto looks exhausted beyond belief, eyes fluttering closed every now and again, as if simply staying awake were becoming too much of an effort. The jacket lies on the sofa, discarded goodness knows when, and that in itself is a rare sight. The tie knot has been loosened, the sleeves of the – now rumpled – blue shirt rolled up to his elbows. She's never seen Ianto so unlike his usual prim and proper suited self. Even in torn jeans and a ragged tshirt – clothes the rest of the team wouldn't even believe Ianto _owns_, much less _wears_ – he somehow manages to look... composed.

But not today.

"You need to rest." She puts a hand on his arm, and for a second he stops typing, hands trembling in mid-air. When he grabs the edge of the desk, knuckles going white, she can feel muscles tensing under her fingers. When he bows his head, Ianto looks the perfect image of defeat. And it _hurts_ to see him like this, to not be able to offer _anything_ to make it even the slightest bit better. "Come on. I'll take you home." Ianto shakes his head. "We can get takeaway. Your pick." She gives him a smile.

"Not hungry." She sighs. "I need to find him." Ianto's voice is broken, raw. "I need to know _why_." She nods, hand still absently patting Ianto's arm. "I need to punch that perfect jawline of his and smack some sense into him." She can't help the smile. Yes, the idea of slapping the almighty Captain Jack Harkness has crossed her mind since he vanished. Just to remind him that, while he's perfectly entitled to go where he pleases, given their line of work, some notice would be appreciated. Just so his staff – his friends – don't have to unnecessarily worry about him. Because a slap would probably convey the message better than any red-tape-y document every could. Jack was never one for memos. "I need to..."

Ianto leans back onto the chair and lets out a sigh, hands hanging limply at his sides, eyes still on the screen. It looks like dragging him away from here will be more complicated than she expected. Before he can grab the keyboard again, she sneaks between him and the screens, effectively blocking the view of at least some of them. Hopefully the ones with the most interesting data, assuming Ianto is using the monitors as he always does.

Ianto stares at her for a long, tense minute, maybe even two. She holds his gaze, all pain and emotion pushing to come out and somehow being contained – at least partly. She wants to say something, _anything_, but no words seem appropriate. Ianto swallows, slowly shaking his head.

And suddenly he is on her, not brushing her aside, as she half-expected, but arms wrapped around her waist and holding on to her for dear life, head resting on her chest, shaky breaths in amongst half-whispered words she can't really make out. It takes her a moment to react, to run her fingers through his hair and rest a hand on the back of his neck, and lean to leave a kiss on his head.

"You need to rest." Ianto sighs and reluctantly nods, and she finds it hard to reconcile this broken, hurting Ianto with the person that showed up at her doorstep more than once, bringing a smile and a bit of company to help her fight the daemons of the day. "I don't think you've slept in the last two days." He opens his mouth to complain, then closes it again when she looks at him. "No more than a couple of hours at a time, and that doesn't count as sleeping. You said so yourself."

Silence. Or as close to it as it is possible in the Hub, with all the whirring and the purring of the many systems and machinery, the dripping of water in the most unexpected corners, and all those little noises that used to make her uncomfortable but have slowly turned into familiar and even missed.

"It hurts." Barely a whisper, too much of a confession, and she's lost for words. What could she say?

"Wherever he is, I'm sure he's okay." Ianto snorts. Okay, maybe not the best thing to say, but... "At least we don't have to worry about him ending up dead on some obscure place." Ianto's arms tighten around her. "Did you... did you know he can't...?" Ianto shakes his head again.

"When Owen shot him..." Silence. Muscles tensing all over Ianto. "I thought..." Barely a whisper. "I thought that was it, I thought that was the end of it." Ianto drags her closer, and she almost loses her footing. "When he... came back to life, and just stood there, alive again... I didn't know whether to hate all the secrets he keeps, all the times I worried about him getting killed or hurt when he can survive getting shot in the head... or just be relieved he was back."

Absentmindedly, she trails her nails along Ianto's neck, just under the hairline, barely there. Ianto leans into the touch, still holding her close, and lets out a sigh. And she can't help thinking how hard everything that has happened in the last few days must be for Ianto. Challenging Jack's authority as leader of Torchwood. Watching him die, not once, but twice, before he could even get over the shock of the fact that Jack _came back to life_.

"It should have been you." Ianto makes what sounds like a questioning noise and buries his face on her chest. "At his side. Not Gwen." Ianto nods, fingers digging in her back. "Why...?" She can't even phrase the question. Not in any way that would be fair to Gwen.

"She wouldn't have left, whatever I had said." She runs her fingers through his hair, and it isn't until Ianto lets out a soft hiss she realises she's actually dragging her nails. "And somebody had to take care of everything while he... wasn't around."

"And who takes care of you?" Ianto shrugs, and she puts a finger to his lips before he can say anything. "Don't tell me you can manage. I know you can. We all can, or we wouldn't be doing this job, living this life." She sneaks a finger under the collar of Ianto's shirt. "But there's more to life than just _managing_." A pause. "Come on, I'll take you home." Ianto shakes his head, stubborning refusing to move. "You can come back to mine, if you... don't want to go home." Another headshake. "Well, one thing is certain, you are not spending another night in that sofa."

Ianto's lip curl in the beginning of a smile – a very cynical and sad one, but a smile nonetheless. As if she had said something funny and didn't even know it. He looks at her and for a second she has to wonder how he – or any of them, for that matter – manages to keep anything vaguely resembling sanity in this world.

"Home is here." She gives him a puzzled look. Well, yes, they all spend a lot of time in the Hub, but that still doesn't make it home. "Has been for a long time."

One of Ianto's hands comes up and settles on her cheek, fingers gently running along her neck, right under her ear, and she finds herself leaning into the touch. The first brush of lips is tentative, seeking and uncertain. Almost uncertain whether it will be welcome. Almost as if Ianto didn't know by now that he will always be welcome.

There's a moment of deep breaths and awkward looks, and then it's all bite and want and heat. Hands tug at the back of her shirt and travel up her back, and there's almost a silent plea in the way Ianto looks at her, as if trying to convince himself that she is really here. As if he were asking for something he doesn't even know he wants, he needs.

Slowly, he stands up, eyes never leaving hers, and she can almost hear every muscle complaining. She knows full well what a full day in front of the computer can do to a human body – and Ianto hasn't even bothered to adjust the chair. More pressing thing in his mind than ergonomics. He grabs her hand and tugs, and she follows him, down the steps and towards the corridors that lead to the bowels of the Hub.

"Where are we going?" Ianto doesn't reply, doesn't even look at her. They walk in silence, steps echoing in the walls, Ianto's hand on the small of her back, heat seeping through her clothing and bringing back memories. If there is one person she would like to have with her if she ever gets trapped in a cold place, it's Ianto – although she probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now. Ianto has a way of getting under her skin, or making everything – and everybody – else entirely irrelevant.

After a few minutes, they turn away from the sections she is familiar with. It is surprising – she is down here quite a lot, what with cataloguing artefacts for the Archives or working on the many server rooms that hide in the depths of the Hub, safe from just about anything that could happen above ground. No doubt there are nooks and crannies in this place she doesn't know about – and if someone would know them all, it'd be Ianto.

Suddenly Ianto stops, falling behind a few steps before she notices. When she turns around, he's leaning against the wall, eyes lost somewhere in the shadows that dance around the ceiling. He looks lost, and hurt, and wanting to be alone but fearing it at the same time. She doubles back and stands in front of him, tentatively placing a hand on his chest.

"Go home, Tosh." She can barely make out the words. "Watch telly. Read a book. Curse Owen for being a tactless twat just to hide that he cares. Worry about Jack." A sigh that sounds of defeat. A hand settles on hers, locking fingers, and the contradiction between the words and the gesture is so obvious it hurts. "Do whatever it is you do when you are not here."

She blinks, finding it hard to believe that even now, when all his world is – yet again – collapsing, even after everything she's said tonight – Ianto is worrying about her. It's always like that with him, ever since she's known him. No matter what he may be going through, Ianto's first instinct is always for others. She swallows and moves closer, her head on his chest, one of his arms around her waist again.

"I'm not going anywhere." A kiss on her forehead, and suddenly there are hands tugging at her clothes, searching for skin, hot skin and tense muscles under her fingers and heat and desperate need everywhere around her. All so much like Ianto, passionate and full of energy; all so much unlike Ianto at the same time in ways she can't really explain. They stumble down the corridor barely a few metres, still tangled in touch and kiss and feeling, while Ianto half-mutters explanations about him, and Jack, and what they have, and how it just gets complicated every time he thinks it can't get worse, and how it's still worth every moment.

Somehow it's strange – even wrong – to hear Ianto say so much about himself. He's always so quiet, so reserved, even with her, even though she knows he tells her more than anybody else. Not that Ianto doesn't have all the reasons in the world to keep things quiet – Owen, by his own admission, 'tortures people in happy relationships', or in any kind of relationship, just because they have something he's afraid to have; Gwen can be entirely blind to people around them and stab them in the heart without even noticing, even when she means well; and who else could Ianto talk to? This job will kill them all, simply by isolating them from the world.

Ianto pushes open a door behind her, and they step into the room behind it. The door closes with a loud thud, and it takes a few heartbeats for her eyes to adjust to the light - the contrast between the harsh brightness outside and the soft, almost-dark-but-no-quite glow is almost shocking. More stumbling, and suddenly she's falling. She clings to Ianto and braces herself for a tumble that never comes. She should know by now to trust Ianto.

She's on a bed. A huge bed, all soft pillows and a puffy duvet and she'd say hospital corners even though she's sure they are impossible with a duvet. She laughs, and Ianto gives her a smile that is still sad, but a bit less than earlier. She tries to look around, beyond the towering figure of Ianto, as her eyes adjust to the light. A wardrobe that wouldn't look out of place in an antiques shop. A desk that almost matches the one in Jack's office. An armchair that she would expect to see in front of a fireplace in a country house.

It all shouts 'Ianto' much louder than the clean lines and cool colours in his place.

A single finger traces her nose, the outline of her lips, the line of her jaw, and there's so much Ianto manages to say with so little, with barely a touch.

"It was only a camp bed, at first, when I was... looking after Lisa." A kiss on the side of her neck. "After that... Some days are just too long to go home after." She nods. It wouldn't be the first time she wishes she could just collapse on the sofa upstairs and sleep rather than have to stay awake for another twenty minutes until she gets home. Quite often, when she finally drags herself out of the Hub, Ianto is still dealing with paperwork or archiving items they found or making sure the Weevils are fed and all those little things that only he seems to be aware need doing. No wonder he made himself a nest here.

"I wouldn't let the others know if I were you." Slowly, she raises a hand and pushes Ianto's half-unbuttoned shirt off his shoulder, revealing smooth skin and the telltales of other nights, other lovers. "They'll all want one." He snorts in a way that says 'over my dead body, and even so I will leave strict orders to prevent it', and not that she can blame him. Owen already makes enough of a mess of the whole place by just working here. "Are you sure you want to stay? Wouldn't you be more comfortable...?"

"Don't waste your breath, Tosh." He rolls over, lying on his back, and turns toward her. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet." She swallows. Somehow it makes sense, she can understand what Ianto is doing, clinging onto _doing something_ that may not help at all but makes him feel like he's at least _trying_ .

"Are you sure you...?" Ianto leans forward, resting his forehead on hers, and the words die on her lips. There is something about Ianto that speaks about survival, about being able to get through hell and back if only he can hold on to something. No, not something, rather someone. The kind of man who would turn the world inside out for those he cares for.

Always the last one to give up hope.

Soft lips on hers again, barely brushing, and those nights she tries not to think about come rushing back in. Ianto tastes of coffee and desperation and raw _need_. Hands pull at her until she's straddling him, tug at her clothes, run through her hair. There's tossing and turning and rolling and clothes falling off and being thrown across the room and hiding under duvet because despite everything it's _cold_ down here.

"I'm glad you are here, Tosh."

There's Ianto's fingers digging into her waist, and her nails raking down his arms, and hisses of almost-pain turning to moans of pleasure. There's heat and presence and life, like every time Ianto is around, and there's also something _missing_, even though she can't quite put her finger on it.

"Anytime you need a friend."

There's Ianto's gentle touch and Ianto holding on to the railings in the headboard and staring at her almost pleading, almost begging her to keep the ghosts at bay, almost surrendering in a way she's never seen him do before, in a way that brings out way too many complicated things in her. There's bite and tenderness and teasing, and it's heartbreaking and beautiful and so unbelievably _human_ it hurts in the best possible way. There's Ianto raising his hips to meet her, aching muscles in her thighs, and the quiet connection of not expecting, not demanding, just sharing.

"You deserve so much more..."

There's a quiet sigh as Ianto's body tenses under her. There's pleasure washing over her. There's Ianto's hands leaving the headboard and reaching for her, holding her close. There's cuddling and shaky breaths and a finger on her lips to keep her quiet, as if Ianto were afraid that a single word would bring the world crashing on them again.

Eventually Ianto's breath slows down to that even, calmed rhythm that announces he's asleep. She brings the duvet closer to her, and makes herself comfortable around him, one hand on his chest, a foot tracing idle lines up and down his leg.

She falls asleep halfway through writing the speech she's going to give Jack when he comes back.

Ianto wakes up with a startle, heart pounding and almost out of breath. It's dark, and that doesn't help. It takes a moment for the nightmares to dissipate and reality to reassert itself, and when it does, it comes back in pieces. A warm body cuddled around him, lithe and all soft lines. His arm wrapped protectively around slender shoulders. A hand placed on his chest, as if trying to calm him down, all long fingers and even longer nails that were raking all over him not that long ago.

Tosh.

A single finger traces a line over his ribs, barely touching, just close enough to remind him he's not alone. His body aches, some of it in a good way, some of it not so much so. He lets out a sigh, tired, exhausted somehow surprised to be sharing a bed with her again.

"Why do we keep doing this, Tosh?" She doesn't answer, just moves closer to him and leaves the ghost of a kiss on his skin. The bed creaks a bit as she moves, and he can picture her without having to see her face. The quiet smile. The gentle look in her eyes. One of them has asked the question every time they've woken up together. So far they haven't found a convincing answer. Or a reason to stop, for that matter.

"Because we're human."


End file.
